Nomad
by BrokenSubjectMatter
Summary: I've decided to write my story, just in case. I've been in a lot of danger these past few weeks and I've been through too much for it to just end. I don't plan on dying, but if I do, at least there will be something to prove that I existed and all that I've been through. My name is Isabell Adira Caine and I'm running from the people that I'm supposed to always be able to trust.
1. Chapter 1

**Rated T for some mild language and abuse and lovely stuff like that**

**Disclaimer:**

**I own nothing but the plot and Isabell. **

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_June 25th, 2014_

_I've decided to write my story, just in case. I've been in a lot of danger these past few weeks, and I've been through too much for it to just end. I don't plan on dying, but if I do, at least there will be something to prove that I existed and all that I've been through._

_My name is Isabell Adira Caine. My sixteenth birthday was a month ago, on May 24th. I was born in Japan, but my parents were both raised in America. My father is half Japanese, half American, and my mother is like one quarter Japanese or something like that. Which makes me pretty much all American. But both of my parents were raised in Japanese households, learning Japanese and English at the same time. When my mother was pregnant with me, they decided that they wanted their daughter raised in Japan. So they moved here. While I'm not really Japanese by blood, I'm Japanese through and through._

_My parents, Sabastian and Madeline Caine, are the infamous criminals responsible for at least fifteen robberies, five America and ten in Japan. They've killed over one hundred people, the last count I believe was one hundred and seven. The merciless ways they kill their hostages suggest that they might be psychopaths. But they fell in love with each other. They have an equal relationship, not one of them supposedly better or the top dog. That makes that theory close to impossible._

_Being raised by two people supposedly incapable of feeling love automatically spells trouble. But then you add in anger issues and a stubborn child that isn't evil, and you get a whole new type of problem. _

_I'm stubborn, yes. I always, always refused to go along with any of their evil plans. I could have gone along on their robberies and been a criminal myself. But I refused. I wouldn't do something like that. I won't do something like that. Refusing to go along with their plans made them angry. And that led to the abuse, verbal mostly, but with an occasional slap or two. _

_A few weeks ago, on the day before my birthday, I ran away from home. But I didn't run away for the typical teenage reasons, being mad at my parents or some other stupid thing like that. I ran away because I was in danger._

_May 23th, I turned my parents into the police. See, my parents are really good at running and getting away with their crimes. Between the two of them they have a total of one year in jail. Only one year, my father seven months and my mother five. That's nothing. But this time they couldn't run away fast enough._

_They were packing up our house, getting ready for our next move so they could plan out their next crime. Having so much money made it no problem from them to be able to pay for fake papers and stuff so they can pretend to be other people, which is how they've managed to get away with this for so long._

_Well I went to the police station, even though I was really supposed to be at school and told the police where my parents were currently living. I got home at the normal time and they thought nothing of it, just assumed that I was at school. They were really surprised when the police followed through the door after me and arrested them._

_Surprised isn't really the right word. I mean, yes they were surprised. But they were livid, threatening me and all of that. I was supposed to be taken to the police station with them so that I could explain everything to the police and all of that, but they got distracted._

_My mother, a karate prodigy, managed to slip out of the police's grasp and run. I was left alone in my house as they all left, trying to catch her. _

_My parents don't commit their crimes alone. They have a team of eight other people. Eight people that moved over from America with them and are their closest and most trusted friends. Eight people that won't hesitate before finding and hurting me._

_I knew that, and without the police to protect me, I was very, very vulnerable. It wouldn't take long for word to get to my parent's colleagues. Once they knew, they would find me quickly. But if I wasn't home, if I was off hiding in the woods, there was less of a chance of them finding me._

_I could have hidden in the city, but that was riskier. It was more likely that someone would see and recognize me, giving away my location in the city rather than the woods. So I went with the woods. I've been camping a lot. In between homes and all of that, my parents often chose to camp it out for a little while. As long as I steered clear of their chosen camping areas, I was okay._

_When the police left my house, I tore through it, finding all of the camping supplies lying about. The hardest part was getting everything I needed without making the backpack too heavy._

_I tried to bring as little as possible, and I still ended up carrying a lot, but as my food disappeared (as I expected it to), my bag lightened a bit. Luckily everything I brought was meant for camping, which meant that it was lightweight but durable. _

_Once I had my bag packed and my hiking shoes on, I left the house, not bothering to lock the door or any of that. I did however make an effort to hide what I had taken. The people that would be looking for me knew my house well and would notice when something was missing._

_Our house backed right up to the woods, making my life a little easier. I traveled almost ten miles the first day, which was impressive for me. I had never trekked a long time carrying so much stuff. That night was awful. I set up camp, and tried to eat. But I wasn't really hungry. At all. But I had forced myself to eat anyway. I slept fitfully and I woke up sore. But I forced myself to keep going._

_Within the next week, I had traveled a total of fifty miles and was on the outskirts of a tiny little town that no one had ever heard of. I took the opportunity to restock on my food. They only had one store in town, which had everything. Clothes, food, house supplies and everything else. I looked completely out of place and it was evident that I wasn't from there. I managed to buy the food I needed and disappear again with only a few questions, all of which were curious not suspicious._

_._

My aching hand forces me to stop writing. I wanted to get as much of it done as possible, but I only end up about halfway done. I was ignoring the pain in my hand, but it was too much.

With a sigh I throw my notebook and the pen into my backpacking before setting that onto the rock I had been sitting on. With skill, I set up my camp in minutes, the tent popping up, my sleeping bag rolled out and a small fire growing.

As I wait for my fire to grow big enough, I walk down to the creek a couple hundred feet away from my camp. I fill up my water bottle and put in the right amount of iodine before filling up a pot and carefully carrying it back up.

My fire is big enough at that point and I drag a few rocks over, all tall enough to be above the fire and with flat enough tops. I circle the fire with them and balance the pot on top, right above the fire where it will be safe, but still close enough that the water will boil.

As that heats up, I pull out my bag of pasta from my backpack. It's my last bit, but for the last few days I've lived off of the plants around me along with my last granola bars.

I'm a vegetarian, and as of recently, I've struggled with getting enough protein. But I refuse to kill an animal and eat it. Even if I did, I wouldn't know how to clean it so that I could eat it, or even cook it.

My dinner is a meager amount of pasta and a few handfuls of berries from nearby bushes.

When I was younger, I was taught by both my parents and many books what plants were okay to eat, and what ones weren't. Knowledge that has been very important over the past weeks, it's all that's kept me alive.

After putting a few more sticks on my fire and cleaning up my dinner, I walk down to the creek with all of my dirty clothes. It was an exceptionally hot day and I was soaked with sweat. The water is clear and free from any debris and dirt, so I strip and kneel down in it. I scrub my clothes and drape them over tree branches, before grabbing the washcloth and soap I brought down and quickly washing myself.

My fire has grown a good amount by the time I get back and I drape the clothes I carried up from the creek over nearby branches, where they'll dry quickly. I yank my hairbrush through my tangled hair, wincing with every tug, before quickly dressing into the one set of clothes that I hadn't washed.

I can't fall asleep with my clothes laying out, so I pull my notebook back out. I know that it's going to hurt, my hand still sore from writing so much before, but there's nothing better for me to do.

.

_I've lost weight since I began this trip. At least fifteen pounds. Considering that I'm only 5'1and weighed a hundred and ten pounds before this all started, that wasn't weight I had to lose. But I've gained muscle. A lot of it._

_It's stolen a lot of my curves though, and that really makes me mad. It's not like I was really curvy before, but I had something and now I have nothing._

_The biggest problem with this whole thing is that I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know when this is going to end. I don't know what I'm going to do or where I'm going to go when I'm not living in the woods again. Until those eight people are in jail, I'm not safe. But there's no way for me to know if they're in jail or not while I'm separated from people._

_Another problem is that I'm alone. Completely alone. My human contact has been limited to the few sentences in the few stores I've visited. Humans aren't meant to be alone for extended periods of time. And if this continues, I'm going to be alone for a long, long time._

_There's no winning, what so ever._

_I thought I was halfway through my story, but really, I'm almost done._

_As the weeks have gone by, I've found a routine. Wake up when the sun rises. Eat something, usually a smaller breakfast because I haven't once had enough food to really fill me up. Hike for hours. Take a break around noon, if I do have enough food, eat something. Otherwise I just drink water. Continue on. Around five or so, I set up camp. Make dinner. Wash. Wash my clothes and supplies. Go to sleep, normally before the sun even sets. Repeat. _

_Everything has been pretty much the same since I started my trip. A few times I haven't been camping in the forests. It'll get to the point where I have to walk across plains or even towns to get to the next forest. When that happens, I don't normally sleep. I just keep walking until I'm hidden in the forest again. Then I go farther in and sleep all day, before just starting my normal routine again. _

_Occasionally, when I'm near towns, I'll go to the grocery store and restock my miniscule food supply. Once I stopped in a book store and bought a book, one that was relatively light but would last longer than a day. That book lasted a week, since I only allowed myself to read a few chapters a night. Once I finished it, I used it for my fires._

_It's rained a few times, which led to miserable nights. They were cold, even though it's warm even at night, and wet. Obviously. Everything gets soaked and I have to walk the next day in wet clothes and wet socks. Which is the worst thing in the world._

_I haven't had any scares, where I thought someone was following me or I was in any sort of danger at all. There hasn't been any times where I've been scared. It's been too easy and I'm beginning to get too comfortable. I'm less cautious and I know that I can't afford to do that. But without anything to scare me into being careful so I'm not found, I can't force myself to be. _

_There's been bugs and plenty of sunburn. Lots of hunger and some dehydration. But no real danger. No plants that I've accidently eaten. No dangerous animals. No people. No wasps to sting me. Which would kill me, since I'm allergic to them._

_I know writing that is likely going to jinx me, since that's just how it works. You say something has never happened to you and then it does. But honestly I almost want something to happen. I'm bored out of my mind. I'm seriously considering just going back to the place I had called home and waiting for them to find me. I have no idea what they're going to do to me, but I'm getting to the point where I just can't care. There's nothing else for me to do._

_There's nothing left for me to live for and the only thing that's keeping me going is that I'm too stubborn to actually give up._

_._

Water drips down onto my paper, and I look up at the sky, expecting to see rain clouds.

But it's clear. Just the fuzzy gray sky that means the sun is setting.

It's me. I'm crying. Throwing my book to the ground, I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face in them, allowing myself to just cry. I've wanted to many times, but I refused to let myself. I grew up being told that crying makes you weak. That it's something pathetic people do. And I know that's not necessarily true. But I personally do think that crying makes me weak. I have no excuse to do it.

But here I am, sobbing into my knees, holding myself because I'm alone. Alone in the forest. A stupid, stupid thing to do. I'm alone. No one knows where I am. If something happens I'm absolutely fucked. And I just can't care at this point.

After a long time, my tears finally stop. I'm still sobbing though, my body just can't produce another tear. But I force myself to stand up. With the diminishing light of my fire, I pack up my book again and pull out my washcloth and water bottle.

I wet the cloth with water from my water bottle and dab at my face. I feel all puffy and gross from crying. That's shoved back into my bag and I pull out my pillow case, stuffing it with my now dry clothes. I then pull out my flashlight and turn it on before stamping out my dying fire. I drag my bag into my tiny tent with me and zip up the door.

I'm only beginning to fall into a fitful sleep, when I hear the thunder.

A string of words that I wouldn't dare say in front of my parents flow out my mouth as I begin to prepare myself for the hell filled night ahead. I climb out of my tent and perch my flashlight onto the rock I was sitting on before so it illuminates my working area.

My tent is placed in the middle of a few trees so I climb up one of them, my tarp and rope in hand. Gripping a too skinny branch with my knees, I manage to string the tarp and tie it onto the one tree.

The rope in hand, I climb down the tree and up one of the other nearby ones. Slowly, the storm growing dangerously close as I work, I manage to string the tarp over my tent, raising the middle slightly so that the water doesn't pool.

As I jump down from the final tree, I see lightning flash, thunder following a second behind. The storm is really close now, and I quickly grab one of the nearby rocks, using it to hammer down the stakes holding down my tent. They were in the ground, but if it got really windy, there was a good chance they wouldn't hold. Once that's done, I snatch up my flashlight and hide back in my tent.

My tent is water proof, but only for a certain amount of water. A small rainstorm, it can handle that. But a thunderstorm, if it's a bad one. That's a whole other story. There's no way in hell it can block out that much rain. Which is why I strung up the tarp.

I'm surrounded by trees, which isn't exactly the best place to be in a thunderstorm. But there's nowhere else for me to go. The only clear area is close to the creek, on the other bank, which is really not where I need to be. Besides, I would rather a tree get struck and fall on me or catch on fire or something rather than being struck because I'm the tallest thing in the area.

I can hear the rain begin to fall. My tarp is just big enough to cover my tent, but I know that it's not going to block all of the rain. I slip into my sleeping bag with a sigh and pray that the storm won't get too bad.

The thunder progressively gets louder and the wind begins to pick up. Water proof tent, yes. Wind proof tent, no. Even though I'm in my sleeping bag, I find myself shivering after only minutes of the wind blowing.

Gritting my teeth and bracing myself, I sit up and dig through my backpack, pulling out my rain jacket, an extra pair of socks and my space blanket. Quickly I slip out of the sleeping bag, sending more shivers racing through me, as I slip on my socks and rain jacket. I tug on my hiking boots, which I had taken off to sleep because I didn't want to get the inside of my sleeping bag dirty. I awkwardly wrap the blanket around me before wriggling back into the sleeping back. Being exposed to the slicing wind made me a lot colder, and even with extra layers on, I'm freezing.

This is another reason why I need someone else with me. Body heat. And this storm would be a little easier to bear if I wasn't alone.

I hadn't thought I would need warmer clothes. It's currently spring, summer approaching quickly. It's hot. I shouldn't need warm clothes. But there must be a cold front coming in, explaining the storm and pushing away the ungodly heat from the past week or so. It would be wonderful tomorrow, but right now, it's hell.

Eventually my shivers subside and I manage to fall asleep. But I must have only been asleep an hour or so when the rain begins to seep in. I had been waiting for it but I hadn't expected it to come so quickly.

The tarp can only hold off so much rain before it begins to lose its shape, the ropes slipping from the weight. Which means my tent isn't covered as well, allowing the rain to drip onto it.

Slowly the floor begins to form puddles. The damn fabric doesn't let it back out once the water is in. I groan in frustration and curl up into a ball, away from all the puddles.

But it's hopeless. The water flow increases and more spots where my tarp has failed appear, allowing the rain in from every direction. The wind blows at my tent, lifting it up slightly and sending the water rolling right towards me.

With a groan of defeat, I pull my knees up to my chest as I had earlier and bury my face in them again. I refuse to let myself cry this time, that would just make me even more miserable. I sit like this for a long time, ignoring the aching of my back, butt, and joints from holding such a position for an extended period of time.

I had hoped the storm would die down, but as the endless night progresses, it seems to just grow more and more powerful. The thunder is loud enough that sleeping is literally impossible, not that I could anyway, and the lightening illuminates everything, allowing me to see the rain blurred shadows of my drenched surroundings. That creeps me out, the trees looking more and more like people every flash.

But I know it's just my mind playing tricks on me and I stop looking after a while, burying my face into my knees again.

There's nothing for me to do. There's nowhere to go that's drier or warmer. I have to pee but that just means I would get soaked. Writing would be pointless, since my journal would just get wet. I can't sleep, not with the flooded floor of the tent or the roaring thunder.

A small sob escapes me, even though I tried so hard not to cry, and after that, my walls just crumble. I spend the rest of the night crying, miserable, wet and cold.

The sun mocks me in the morning, refusing to show itself. The storm ended around four, only hours before the sun rose, and my tent was completely flooded. But I wasn't going to go out in the dark, wet forest alone, so I just cried for the next two or so hours until the sun rose.

It shines off of every drop of rain left on everything, making the morning seem so much brighter and just so much more miserable. There's no way I'll be able to make a fire to dry off everything because all of the wood is wet. As I walk over to the creek, I know that's hopeless too.

It's risen a good ten feet on each side, roaring and muddy. No longer quiet and crystal clear. Debris fills the top, and where you can see the water, all it is, is a muddy dirty mess. My water bottle, only half filled, isn't going to get refilled with that water.

I can't go anywhere, since everything has to be dried before being shoved into my backpack again but I can't make a fire to speed up that process. No less everything else is wet and will just drip onto my drying supplies.

With a scream in frustration, I sit down on the wet rock I had used multiple times yesterday, propping my elbows on my knees as I bury my face in my hands.

I sit there for a while, not doing anything to try and fix the awful mess I'm in, instead just brooding over it all.

Eventually I force myself to stand up and start thinking.

I can't hang anything on the tree branches. They themselves are wet, and the twinkling leaves will just drip more water onto my already wet stuff. I purse my lips as I stare at my drowned camp.

Swiftly I take down my tent and turn it inside out, pouring out all of the water trapped in it. Then I climb into the wet trees and sit there for a while, slowly untying the knots holding up the tarp.

I let one side down first so that the water pooled in it can dump out. The ropes had all slipped, leaving just a giant puddle of water floating above my head last night. If that had fallen on me, I would have stabbed myself right there and then.

Once the rope is free, I drag it behind me as I go looking for a relatively clear area. Thankfully I find one, not close enough to my camp as I would like, but it's as good as I'm going to get.

I tie the rope to a tree on one side, and bring it over to the other side, tying it onto a tree over there. I have enough rope left to tie it again on the original side, forming a sort of triangle.

My knots are better than last night, and the ropes hold everything I drape over it without slipping. It takes me a while to drag everything from my camp, the tent, tarp, blankets, my clothes, the towel, and other stuff from my backpack that is now wet, to the rope but I manage.

Because the area is clear from trees, the ground is already kind of dry. I spread out everything from my backpack that I can't hang, so that it can be dried by the sun. Most of it, like my hairbrush and deodorant, could just be wiped off with a towel. But because that's soaked, it'll just have to air dry.

A good two hours later, I stand near the edge of the small clearing and allow myself to admire my handiwork. Only for a moment, because then I allow myself to realize that there is nowhere for me. I'm not sitting on the wet ground, but it's chilly and I need my jacket. There's no rocks nearby and I can't sit in a tree, since everything is wet.

I let out another scream of frustration and bang my forehead against the tree next to me, leaning against it.

"Why. Why. Why does this happen to me" I moan, being overdramatic as I try not to cry again. I went from not crying this whole time period, to crying three times in a twelve hour time period. Realizing this just makes me cry more. "I just want to go home" I mutter between sobs, "I just want a home."

This continues on for a while, me being as pathetic as possible, until something interrupts me. Or, someone stops me.

"You look like you're having fun."

I look up in shock and turn around, looking for the source of the voice. When I don't find one, I start whispering to myself again, "I've officially lost it. I'm hearing voices now."

"You lost it earlier, when you let yourself cry. But you're not really hearing voices you dumbass."

I recognize that voice and turn to my left, where it's really coming from. There, standing to my left, are my parents. They stand between two trees, the sun shining on them and making them look as if they're gift sent from heaven. The two of them are holding hands and smile at me.

"Isa, dear, we've missed you." My mother smiles wider, if that's possible, and holds out her arms, like she's asking for a hug.

I know I shouldn't go near them. That this is a trick. If they really are there, which I truly doubt, that means that I'm in trouble. A shit ton of trouble. But I can't stop myself. I crave human contact.

So I walk towards her, stretching my arms out to hug her back. I'm a few feet away from her, when I realize that what I'm doing is an awful idea. It really hits me that I'm in a lot of danger. So I do what I should have in the first place, I run.

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**Hey y'all. Long time, no see. I've been writing a lot (like A LOT) recently and I've started tons of different stories. I just never finish them. Ever. Like never. But I'm determined to finish this one. I don't know how well that's going to work considering that I'm going into the worst year of school ever (Three AP classes, Pre-Calc, all of that lovely stuff. I can't wait.)**

**Meet Isabell, who I think is my favourite character ever.**

**Not really.**

**She's just kinda a character. I haven't really decided how to develop her yet. Considering that this chapter is just her, I have time to decide.**

**I'm going to make it a goal to update every week or so. We'll see how that works.**

**That's enough from me. Please let me know what you think. If there's anything you want me to change or stuff you want to happen later, tell me in a review!**

**Lots of love, Sam**

**.**

**Please review. I'll love you forever if you do.**

**Also I apologize for the really long list. I love lists. **

**Jk. There was a list but it didn't copy right and yeah, so I just took it out. I apologize if you read this before while that disaster was still in here. It's gone now. **

******I'm looking for a beta for this story. I've read over this chapter like a million times but I would like to apologize for any grammar mistakes you see. Or spelling, though I really (really) hope that there isn't any spelling errors. So if you'd like to beta for me, just message me.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So they changed how you edit this... I don't know how to do that line now so yeahh.**

**Sorry it took so long to post this. School is a lot harder than I expected. ****_YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY _****(read that with extreme sarcasm)**

**I changed the rating of this story because of this chapter. **

**So enjoy.**

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Looking at my parents, so clean and polished, so out of place in the middle of the woods. It's the strangest thing. I've been so alone for so long that looking at anyone would be weird. But they really don't belong here.

"Isa, dear, we've missed you." My mom stretches her arms out and I stare at her. I don't know what to think.

I don't think though. Immediately I walk towards my parents, my arms reached out to hug my mother. I crave human contact, I don't even process what I'm doing.

It hits me only feet in front of them.

They're supposed to be in jail. They shouldn't be here. Why are they here? How did they find me? Why did they find me?

I look at my parents. The smiles slowly melt off of their faces and their eyes fill with pure hatred, anger. And evil. So much evil projects off of them.

They've only begun to take their first step forward when I spin on my heel and sprint away. Seconds later they're crashing through the forest after me. They're making enough noise for there to be at least ten people. There probably is, they never work alone.

"Isabell!"

"You better stop you little bitch!"

"STOP!"

"Traitor!"

"Wait till you see what we've got planned"

"You're going to get what you deserve!"

"Isabell!"

"Stop!"

I don't know why they're yelling for me to stop because I'm not going to. I'll run forever if I have to, if that's what it takes for me to survive. I'm not going to get caught by them, who knows what they have planned for me.

I know I'm losing them pretty quickly. Already the pounding of their feet is becoming farther and farther away as we all sprint through the forest. It's not even that I'm a fast runner, because I'm not. I've just been in the forest for a month now and I know how to navigate through it. The amount of adrenaline pumping through my body is more than I ever thought possible. It's giving me the energy I need to push my exhausted body through the slippery wet woods with the only things in front of me being more trees, loneliness, and false security.

They're bigger and taller and older and they just aren't meant to weave between trees and branches or run like this. And even though I'm able to avoid most of the branches, unlike them, there's still a few tugging at my face. The stinging of it just fuels me more. It's going to be a lot worse than tiny scratches on my cheeks and forehead if they do catch up.

I'm just glancing behind me to see how far ahead I really am, when the ground disappears.

It's not really gone. More like slanting down to a huge hill. I catch a glimpse of the tree and rock ridden slope below me as my stomach flies up to my throat and my body falls right onto the hill.

I begin to roll and when I hit my first rock, I let out a strangled scream of both pain and terror. I manage to curl up into a ball in an effort to make myself smaller and avoid hitting things. It works, kind of, but it also makes me roll faster.

That's the last thing I'm able to do and process before I start moving too fast. I feel myself hit things but I can't even open my mouth to scream in fear that I'll bite my tongue off. And anyway, my screams would just be swallowed up by the wind I'm flying by.

The small amount of oxygen left in my body escapes as I hit the ground at the bottom of the hill with a violent and painful oomph. My body unfurls itself as I concentrate on breathing, trying to fill my starving lungs.

The second I'm breathing again, I'm able to concentrate on other things.

Like the pain crying, radiating, screaming from the left side of my body. I look slowly, propping myself up on my elbows and craning my neck, terrified to see what the cause of the pain is.

The sight of it makes me gag and I lay back down, concentrating on taking deep breaths instead.

A stick that has to be at least the length of my arm is sticking out my side. It's got to be at least two inches across and I don't know how deep it is, but judging by the pool of blood already bubbling from the wound, I have to guess that it's pretty deep. I can only hope that it hasn't pierced any vital organs and isn't deep enough to make me bleed out before I can get help.

I have no idea how I'm going to get help though. I'm alone in the woods, no one knows I'm gone, and the only people I know for sure that are nearby are my parents and their friends.

I would make an effort to move but I can't. Even sitting up sends more waves of pain through my body, there's no way in hell that I can stand up and try to move away. I'm getting dizzier and dizzier by the second. I don't know if it's from the blood loss, there's a pretty big puddle of blood underneath me, or if I hit my head, but either way, it's getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

Just as my vision is beginning to fill with black and the sky above me is starting to spin, I hear footsteps. There's no need for me to turn my head because they get closer.

Of course it isn't some random people that decided to hike in the most bizarre location or some wild animal curious of what I am or just looking to kill and eat me. No. I watch as my parents and their friends circle around me.

Their faces, all filled with disgust and hatred, spin in circles before fading away. I hear someone say something, though I don't really catch what it is, and laughter before I pass out.

.

I can't really say that I hoped I didn't wake up because I wasn't capable of thinking that. But I hoped I wasn't going to wake up.

And I really hoped that I didn't wake up in a cold cement room that reeks of gasoline and mildew. I didn't want to wake up in a small pool of sticky blood, shivering because the smooth floor has sucked all the warmth out of my body. I didn't want to wake up bathed in florescent lights that make black spots dance before my eyes and my head pound.

The stick is no longer in my side but as I tug my blood soaked shirt up, I see there's still stick fragments stuck in the poorly forming scab. It's disgusting to look at and the tight, bright red skin around the wound is even more disgusting. The pain goes deep, deeper than it should. I can feel the bruise every time I breathe but that's not the problem. It's the aching soreness with daggers of pure agony that are the problem.

I can only sit up far enough to stare at it, propping myself up on my elbows and craning my neck in an attempt to see farther. After only a minute of holding myself like that, my arms begin to shake and I can't stay anymore. I fall back with a gasp, struggling to breathe as the pain overcomes my consciousness.

.

When I wake back up, it's dark. The only thing I can see are the swirling white tendrils of pain dancing before my vision. I don't know if the pounding headache or the stabbing bruise-like ache of my side is worse.

.

I wake up in light sometimes, watching the infection that's already settled into my side grow to two, three, four times the size so it's covering more than half my stomach and it's harder to open my eyes every time I do awaken. When I do open my eyes, all I can really see are blinding white light and black spots.

Other times I wake up in the dark, not able to see anything. The only thing I can focus on is the pain. I just close my eyes and pray that I'll fall asleep or pass out soon.

I wake up thirstier and hungrier every time. Once I wake up and throw up stomach acid. That's all that's left. Tears that I can't stop stream down my face from the pure misery and agony the violent movements cause. The only thing I can manage after I finish is to roll over one rotation and pass out.

.

Every other time I've woken up, I've been alone. But this time I'm not alone. There's two people standing in the room with me. Two people I wish I would never see again yet continue to be everywhere.

My parents stare down at my weak, starving body in disgust. "Revolting. Pathetic too." my mother says as she wrinkles her nose. My father doesn't look disgusted necessarily but he's staring at me in hatred.

I don't say anything. My throat is too dry to make any noise, no less speak. I'm sure I could if I really wanted to, but I don't want to.

"You're done in here. We figured out what we're going to do. Get up."

They probably are going to kill me. If they're not, then they're just going to torture me. And then probably kill me. Why the hell would I get up?

As my father crosses the room and pulls at a small metal ring on the wall, my mother crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me. The metal is pulled on and a door opens, sending a blast of dry, warm air in the damp room.

I don't make any effort to move. I can't, though I really didn't plan on it anyway. I'm in too much pain and I'm too weak. I have to have been in this room for a good while, there's no way I can be this weak from only a few days.

My mother walks over and kicks my side, thankfully not the side with my wound. It still sends a good amount of pain through me and I open my mouth as if to scream. But I don't give her that satisfaction.

"Get up!"

I look away, refusing to give her the look of fear and pain that she wants. I hear footsteps and assume my father is walking over.

"GET UP YOU BITCH!" I'm kicked harder this time. A quiet and surprised squeak escapes from my month, from both surprise and pain.

I make an effort to swallow, though there really isn't a point. There's no spit in my mouth. I look up at the monsters I call my parents. "I can't." The two words come out so faint that I can barely hear myself. But they manage to catch them.

"What do you mean you can't?!"

Anger boils underneath my skin and fuels my weak body; I explode. My voice becomes progressively louder and stronger as I yell. "I can't fucking move. I've been sitting in this fucking room for who knows how long! I haven't had anything to eat or drink in days, dammit! Don't tell me to fucking move when you're left me in here slowly dying!"

For a moment they look shocked by my outburst and the passion behind it. They get over it quickly though. "I. Fucking. Said. To. Get. Up. DO NOT TELL ME YOU CAN'T! GET UP YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!"

"If I'm so worthless, then why do you even need me to get up?" I mutter the snappy comment under my breath but I'm not surprised they hear me anyway.

My sass is rewarded with a sure kick to my stomach. The 'oomph' of surprise I release is cut short as a fistful of my hair is grabbed by my father and he begins to drag me.

The pain sends white sparks dancing before my eyes, different than the ones that I woke up to when the room was dark. Those were slow, the pain being dragged out. But these are like explosions, brought on by each new wave of pain that sounds from all across my body. There's a loud scream echoing around the room. It's high pitched and filled with pain and I think it may be me.

It would have been better if I passed out. But I don't.

I'm dragged up a flight of stairs, down multiple hallways and into a bright room. Windows line the tall walls and I can see trees outside bending underneath a powerful invisible force. A huge fireplace sits on the far wall, a roaring fire heating up the already warm room even more. It's suspicious, there's no need for a fire. It's warm enough both outside and in here to not need one.

My father lets go of my hair, dropping me unceremoniously onto the floor. I fall hard, too weak to make any sort of effort to soften the blow. "You're going to pay for what you did!"

I know I'm screwed. I know that whatever they're going to do to me is going to be hell. Pure hell. There's no point in holding back any of my comments. There's nothing that will make what is coming worse, so why hold back. "Please tell me what I did because all I remember is doing the right thing. I'm pretty sure I turned you into the police and that's about it."

I can almost see the red of anger filling their faces and once they're full, I can imagine that steam is coming out of their ears like a cartoon. I've never seen them hate someone so much. "That's not all you did, you little traitor!"

"YOU refused to go along with our plans. YOU could have had IT ALL! If you had just gone along with our plans, we could have so much more money. YOU passed up the opportunity to get the best job in the world!"

"You think you're too good for us. Well guess what, you bitch. You are NO better than we are! Ever since you were little, you always said that we were bad guys! But you are no better! What makes you better than us!? And we're going to make sure that you know that!"

I fail to see how they're better than me. I know for a fact that I'm a better person, though I don't know how much of a better person I am. I didn't turn them in sooner and I should have. I could have saved lives. I don't bite my tongue though, "I am better than you. You're not just awful people. You're awful parents too."

They lose it. My father grabs my hair again and pulls me over towards the fireplace. There's rings on the wall next to it and I watch from my position, on my knees, my torso held up by my father's grip in my hair as my mother walks over towards the hearth. Sitting on the mantle is a coil of rope and she snatches it up before stalking over to me. My arm is grabbed in her iron grip and the two of them drag me to the fireplace, my efforts to escape not having any impact on them. I'm giving everything I can into my fight, but I'm weak, every movement tearing open the wound in my side and making me shriek. It takes no effort for them to tie me up, their grasp on me is too strong. I end up with my arms outstretched and held tight between the two sides of the fireplace, my legs tied in a similar manner. I can feel blood trickling down from the cut I reopened.

I'm facing the fireplace so I can't see what's going on behind me and I can feel the heat of the huge fireplace slowly beginning to burn my skin as someone cuts into my back. I grit my teeth so I don't scream as a knife is dragged down my skin. One of them is cutting off my shirt and my bra follows shortly after. I have an idea of what's following and as I hear the sound of something cracking in the air, I really know. The first crack doesn't hit me, but I know they plan on whipping me.

I hear someone laughing as the whip collides into my back for the first time. I let out a scream as the pain hits me. I've never felt anything like this before and I wish I never had. It just multiplies each time the whip hits my back. I lose track of how many lashes it takes before blood drips down my back.

The pain is like fire, even stronger than the roaring one only inches in front of me. The blood leaves a trail of cooler skin, dousing the flames on my back for a second before being devoured by another lash.

I managed to stay standing for five or six hits, but they increasingly grow in strength. The next one is stronger than the others and my legs no longer support me. I'm closer to the fire and I let out a scream as my knees both manage to land directly in the flames. The only thing keeping me from falling farther in are my arms, held up by the cruel knots above.

My parents whip me mercilessly, seemingly thriving off of my never ending screams. Occasionally they pause, leaving my shredded skin to pulse in a pain that is beyond agony as they argue over whose turn it is.

At first I try to stay on my feet, weakly hauling myself back up so I'm not as close to the fire in front of me. Somewhere after the tenth lash this doesn't happen and by the twentieth, I can barely stay conscious. Something hits the ground sometime after that and with the little sense I have left, I pray that it's the whip.

The nonstop pressure on my ankles and wrists increase for a moment before disappearing. One asleep arm falls limply to my side and the other one is cut down, following in a similar manner as the first. I collapse forward and thankfully one of them stops me from landing in the fire. I mean, I end up being pulled by my hair, the destroyed skin on my back dragging on the ground, leaving a trail of blood. But it's still better than the fire.

I'm tossed into a stiff backed chair, my numb arms and burnt legs tied to the wood. I try to squirm away, sobbing and moaning as my back rubs against the rough chair. I can't even describe the agony. I'm barely conscious but I know that I'm naked from the waist up and my cheeks manage to burn in embarrassment. Through my half closed, tear blurred eyes, I watch as they walk out of the room laughing.

I close my eyes and pass out.

.

I wake up because someone is pulling my hair. I open my eyes and go to turn my head to see who's tugging at it, but I can't. A sharp blade nicks my neck as I move and I let out a startled squeak. Looking through blurry, black spotted eyes, I stare at my father. He looks bored as he holds the dangerous silver blade up to me.

I bite my tongue hard in an attempt to ignore the pain that just hits me, the pain echoing throughout my back. All of it screams in agony and I taste blood as I bite harder. It helps a little.

My mother, who I assume is the one pulling my hair, isn't just pulling my hair. The pressure increases in certain parts before disappearing, relieving the pull for a second before it starts again in another spot. When she lets go, my body throws itself forward slightly into the knife, but she pulls me back quickly. I think she's cutting my hair.

"She's awake" my father mutters as he looks around the room, unentertained as he holds up the knife.

"If you move, you die" she hisses into my ear. I roll my eyes, the stupidity of her statement shining through the pain. I'm not going anywhere. Between the ropes holding me to the chair now and the knife, I'm not going anywhere. "Everyone always told me that you were so pretty. That I was lucky to have such a beautiful daughter. Well they're wrong! You're not pretty. They once thought that you were prettier than me but that's not true! You really won't be pretty once we're done with you."

It's her last sentences that scares me. I know that whatever else they're going to do won't just stay on my body. It's going to make me ugly. It's the one thing for them to scar my body up. But my face. That's a while other level of revenge. One that I'm not surprised my parents are going to reach.

The pulling stops eventually but my father doesn't move away. I stare at him, anxiously awaiting my next torture, chewing on my cheek because I'm afraid that I'm going to seriously damage my tongue. My mother, who's been out of my sight since I woke up, walks up to me, a dangerous looking knife in her hand.

Like scary. The long blade curves and its thin enough that I imagine it would slice through me without her giving any sort of effort.

Neither of them says anything. My father moves his knife away from my throat and twirls it in his hand, waiting for my mother to make the next move. I watch in horror as her knife approaches my face and immediately I'm suffocating in blood. I don't know where it's coming from, where my mother is cutting. I feel multiple cuts, I don't know where any of them are. All I know if that when I scream, I regret it. That's a cut in my cheek. I know because as I scream, it tears it open and it hurts a million times worse. Blood pours into my eyes and the pain now comes from somewhere else.

They finish quicker than expected and I sit, my eyes closed but warm tears dripping down my face and mixing in with the blood. They're swallowed up in the ocean of crimson liquid that pours from my forehead and cheek. I don't know how deep the cuts are, but they're going to scar. That's the point. They're making me ugly.

Someone is cutting the ropes, the movement making them rub against my already raw ankles and wrists. I was leaning forward, arching my back in an attempt to lessen the contact of the skin on my back to the chairs. Without the ropes holding me up, I fall forward. I stretch my arms out to stop my fall but it does nothing. They just collapse underneath me and I lay on the ground, sobbing, drowning in my blood.

I feel myself flipped over onto my back. I feel my pants being cut off and people carving into my skin. My legs, my arms, my stomach. I know that they are but I can't feel the pain. My eyes won't stay open, blood still stinging them every time there're opened and the black spots covering almost my whole field of vision. When I do open them, all I can see are little flashes of light here and there. I think my parents are talking to me but I can't hear them, their voices sound like they're a million miles away.

After a while, my eyes are too heavy to open. I feel things hitting my body. It may be their feet but I don't know. I'm lost in a pool of agony.

There's a different voice at one point, just as muffled as my parents, but it's higher pitched and scared. I can feel more and more things hitting my body after that, harder and harder. I can feel my body move from each impact, twisting me in new ways and ripping open every cut even more. There's no pain from it though. I'm already drowning in the bitter acid of agony. It doesn't matter how much more you add, I'm drowning anyway.

The impacts stop after one last, exceptionally hard, to my face. It sends me rolling. I know that. But I still can't feel it. I don't know how I'm awake. How I'm alive.

I can feel the crimson liquid covering my body. I can feel it flowing down, filling my pool of pain more and more. It doesn't make a difference but I know there's more. I know the pain is increasing. But I can't actually feel the extra added.

There's a bang. A loud one. And footsteps. The floor vibrates underneath them. I can just feel it when I peek my head out of my sea. It's not a pool anymore. It's an ocean of blood and the worst kinds of pain anyone can feel.

Different voices. Loud, deep. Not my parents. Scared though. Anxious and rushed. I wish I knew what they were saying. What they're so scared of.

.

Shouting. I'm being moved.

My ocean is still here.

I can feel it.

I'm drowning in it.

I just want to die.

Make it stop.

I can't handle this.

Please.

Make it stop.

More pain. I'm being lifted again.

It's cold.

It hurts.

Help me.

Please.

A pin prick, barely a ripple in my ocean.

So much pain.

It's going white.

Please just make it stop.

Please.

.

**I would just like to say that I really do like Isabell. I didn't really like doing this to her.**

**But I did anyway.**

**I tried really hard to make this realistic. Please tell me what you think! Expect the next chapter in a few weeks. Hopefully sooner but I don't want to make any promises that I can't keep.**

**Also, again I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. I read it over a bunch of times just like the last time but it's hard to find that stuff in your writing sometimes.I'm still looking for a beta, if you're willing, please let me know.**

**Anyway, please review. **

**Lots of love, Sam.**


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